Heartbroken
by John Smith
Summary: Everyone views the world through a different set of eyes. When Jack faces the coming-of-age of his first believer, he sees it a little differently than Jamie and Bunny do. No pairings.
1. A Mark of Jack

___Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the actual words that are written here._

_Author's note: This story has an unconventional structure. Each chapter will be through the eyes of either Jack, Jamie, or Bunny. They will alternate in this respective order (so in chapter four, we'll be back to Jack). Hopefully it won't be disconcerting at all. This story is not what I would call contiguous, but it will flow in a chronological order (with some overlap in future chapters). Please let me know if you find any of it confusing at all, although I warn you that some things are left ambiguous because we are seeing it through the characters' eyes._

_Please be aware that the story is rated T because future chapters will contain some graphic (gory) material. I will warn you when that comes!_

* * *

It had started with Jamie's loneliness, a concept Jack had, as expected, an incredible amount of empathy for. He also had empathy for the undignified nature of feeling lonely, and so he had made a conscious effort to never discuss it with Jamie. They were both familiar with loneliness, and they were both loth to discuss their feelings.

A tacit was born.

The notoriously long winters of Burgess became longer, and the notoriously starry-eyed children of Burgess became ever the more steeped in fantastical delights. Jack Frost was now a worldwide phenomenon, albeit much more niche than the other Guardians. Sophie and Jamie had begun referring to him as a Cult Classic, although he was certainly not pleased with the term-as an immortal spirit, he knew the implications a cult could and sometimes did have on the world at large. It wasn't pretty. But there was a tacit to not talk about feelings, so he never made it known to them, at least not on any level beyond the occasional _Hey, I'll have you know that I don't do the whole cult thing_.

Despite Jack having stardom sparsely across the globe and densely across Burgess, Jamie's friends and peers were subject to as much growth as every other child on the planet, and several of them had stopped believing. Those who still did believe-well, Jack had found it hard to keep on good terms with them. It wasn't fun knowing that someone was _pretending_ not to see him. It was... heartbreaking. But there was so much fun to be had with so many other children that Jack's heart cracked only occasionally. And when it did, he would find Jamie.

There was something about being there for a person who could relate to his plight—something that sealed all the hairline fractures in his heart. Now those nights spent on Jamie's roof staring at the moon were no longer filled with anguish and searching. He could only be thankful.

He was a Guardian.

Although, perhaps he wasn't the _best_ at being a guardian all the time. When he would hang upside down, tapping on Jamie's window at 6 o'clock in the morning, he probably wasn't being a good guardian. To be fair, though, it _was _so he could give the boy a well-deserved pep-up before school. Jamie moaned, rubbing his eyes and coming to the window without bothering to look up once. Jack was convinced that his eyes were still closed the entire time.

"Morning!" He piped, flipping into the room without the aid of the wind. Jamie's word had been final: _No more wind in the room. Definitely not in the morning. No, Jack._ Jack's protestations had died in a poutlike frown, but he had obliged, sometimes still wearing that same pout. Not today, however.

"Morning, Jack," Jamie said with a yawn, leaning the window shut so that only a sliver of cold wind curled its way past his fingers. Jamie had learned years ago that the Spirit of Winter did not belong inside, partitioned away from the wind for long. The wind had told him that with a howling, battering anger that shocked both him and Jack. They had shared such a good laugh at that.

"What are you doing today?" Jack asked him, watching as Jamie sat back down on his bed, rubbing bleary eyes. He yawned again, stretching his arms into the air. When he finally blinked and looked up, he smiled with an amused shake of the head.

"You better not break my fan; my mom would kill me," he said. Jack shifted, uncurling one leg from around the fanblade and pressing his foot to the ceiling so he could flip down, back to the floor. Right-side up once more, he grinned at Jamie.

"You worry too much," but even as he spoke he followed Jamie's wide-eyed gaze to the ceiling. "Uh oh," he muttered, his laughter suddenly peeling out across the quiet morning. He lifted a bare foot to look at the blackened bottom as though there was a chance that the dark footprint on the ceiling _wasn't_ his.

"Jack, what the heck! Dude, you _have _to clean that off." Jamie was fully awake now, at least, and he was laughing. That was good. It didn't last, however. Every conversation between Jack and Jamie was half-whispered, half-cautious, and, to most of the world, half-real. "My mom is gonna kill me for _that_, too!" He was still smiling as he said it, although his tone was hushed once more.

"Aw, she probably won't even see it." Jack slung his staff over a shoulder with a nonchalant shrug.

"Like she can't see your window art?" Jamie leveled him with a flat stare. The discovery that Jamie's mother could see his frost art-but only to the extent that preserved her non-belief-had come as a hysterical discovery to Jack. He had since made a conscious effort to get her to see what only believers would: an invisible finger tracing images into frost, or the frost ferns spreading at an unnaturally fast pace, or images and messages left in places where humans could not easily leave them. So far his numerous failures to make her see the unseen had failed to deter him from trying. The fact that she blamed what she _did_ see on her children was icing on the cake. Or on the window, as it were.

In 300 years, Jack had found plenty of people who had seen the same as Mrs. Bennett, and occasionally someone who saw the magical side of it too, as Jamie had on that fateful night. Jack absolutely loved that Jamie's own mother was one of these rarities. Maybe someday she would see as much as her children did.

A small click caught their attention, and both watched as Sophie stepped into the room.

"Soph, will you seriously knock? I couldda been naked," Jamie said. Although he gave a snort afterward, there was no humor in it, and his voice had an edge of annoyance that sent a twinge of pain through Jack's heart.

"With _Jack_ here?" She asked, an eyebrow raised incredulously. The spell of darkness was broken, the beginnings of a crack healed. Jack laughed again, this time with Sophie, and after Jamie sputtered with a red flush to his face, he joined in as well. Jack was sure that he would, that he _could_ never like the sound of anything more than these two children laughing with him.

"What are you two doing up so early?" Their mother asked, peeking in the door in a gesture that had become something of a morning staple.

"Their alarm clock is winter," Jack replied casually, leaning his head against his staff with a fond smile. He'd come to love their mother, even when she was on one of her morning nag tirades. Like right now, apparently.

"And what's so funny? Jamie, why is it always so _cold_ in here?" Jack chuckled, and the three gave each other knowing glances behind her back. She was stalking across the room—Jack hopped backwards, out of her way—to close the window, grumbling about the mess of clothing strewn about the floor. "You still haven't learned to use a hamper for your laundry, I see."

"Mom, it's not always dirty," he moaned, eyes on the ceiling. His eyebrows furrowed when he saw the footprint again, and he shot a glare at Jack, who only burst out laughing in response. Oblivious, Mrs. Bennett was stooping to pick up every white item of clothing she found.

"I'm hoping you don't mean these," she said, holding up a pair of white underwear. "I will _not_ be doing a smell-test on your underpants, Jamie," she said, deadpan. His underwear swayed in her hand like a flag, held up triumphantly. Jack was on the floor, clutching his sides with laughter. Sophie had fallen into a fit of giggles as well.

"Mom!" Jamie was shoving her out of his room, face as red as a poinsettia.

"Don't be late for school!" She sang from behind the slammed door, now deceptively pleasant.

"Ugh, shut up," he grumbled, flopping down onto his bed. Jack wasn't sure who Jamie was talking to, his mother or the two in here, but he continued laughing. He wiped a hail-like tear from his cheek.

"Your mom," he started, his words dying on a stray chuckle. "Your mom is a brilliant trickster, Jamie." He watched curiously as Sophie picked up one of his frozen tears from the floor. It was already melting in her warm fingers.

"Haw haw," Jamie's voice was muffled in the pillow. "Now both of you go away, I have to get dressed." Neither were listening. Sophie was fascinated by the tear, Jack fascinated by Sophie's fascination. The fact that neither had left seemed inconsequential to Jamie, who continued to lie face down, unmoving.

Then Sophie stuck the melting tear into her mouth.

"Gross!" Jack shrieked with renewed laughter. "Sophie—what!" He hopped up onto Jamie's desk, toes sending a web of frost across the wood.

"Hm," she said calmly, head tilted in appraisal "so it _is _just like mine." Jamie turned his head to look at the two but didn't move otherwise.

"What did she do this time?" He asked flatly.

"She—she's drinking my _tears_!" Jack pointed at the nine-year-old girl sitting on the floor, and he reminded himself of a woman standing on a chair shrieking at a mouse. He stepped off the desk lightly.

"Stop being weird, Soph," Jamie said, sounding entirely disinterested. One of his arms fell off the bed, and he pulled a pair of jeans up from the floor with it. He did the same to fish for a shirt. "Seriously go away. I gotta get dressed," he groaned, face back in his pillow.

"Make sure to at least turn your dirty underwear inside-out," Sophie said, making a mad dash for the door as she did. He blindly threw the striped shirt toward her voice (it hit the door), then groaned when he looked up again, seeing that no others were close to his bed.

And then, as though it was obliging Jamie, the wind began to howl at the window, demanding Jack come back out to play and leave the boy to his big windowed box. He chuckled and opened the window, whispering a devious plan to his oldest friend. It was delighted to comply, of course, and in an instant was stirring up the clothing from Jamie's floor in a whirl. With one last, sweeping flourish, the wind dropped a heaping pile of clothing on top of Jamie's prone form. And although Jack could _just _make out his friend's protestations under his own peels of laughter, he noticed that the teen still did not move. Jack whooped and flew out of the window, hearing one last defeated groan.


	2. Jamie and a Glimpse

___Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the actual words that are written here._

* * *

It was later in the same year, when they were parting for Spring's relentless advancement, that Jamie was looking out for the Easter Bunny. He wanted to know a little more about Jack, and who better to ask than one of the other Guardians?

Jamie's childhood heroes had been few and far between. He'd looked up to the holiday spirits, the Tooth Fairy, and the Sandman, sure, but he was much more captivated by the mysterious and lesser-known concepts like Big Foot and aliens. Those didn't make particularly good heroes, though. His entire idea of fantasy crashed around his ears that one fateful night, however, when he had met Jack Frost. Here was a relatable hero, someone like him. A boy. And the relatability only grew as Jamie aged.

Jack, of course, decidedly did _not_ age, his countenance forever trapped in its teen years. It wasn't until Jamie was a teenager himself that he realized it wasn't just Jack's face that remained eternally young. As Jamie grew, he felt the strange sensation of meeting Jack eye-to-eye in many ways. What was once gentle patronization had long since given way to casual banter. Certainly there had been a time of aloof abandon in there, but Jamie found it easiest to ignore that particular juncture. Now, he found that he could meet Jack's playful jibes, and he had finally started to feel like less of a burden and more of a friend. Jack's increasing lack of flightiness probably had to do with that as well. Jack would come, and he would _stay_.

For the past few blessed years, the two had been thick as thieves. They were best friends, and Jamie would not have had it any other way. An unfortunate latent effect was that Sophie had gone from being a primary member of their trio to being a bit of a third wheel—but that was because she tended to be more of a little troll when Jack was around. Jamie suspected only later, when he was older, that the little girl had developed a bit of a puppy crush on him and acted out to grab his attention all for herself. Regardless of why, it had irked Jamie to no end that she nosed her way into their every conversation to snatch Jack's attention. At some point that year, Jamie had abruptly stopped reprimanding her for her interruptions when he'd suddenly realized how much it hurt Jack. Begrudgingly, Jamie had tried to keep her in the loop as much as possible, even when she was being a little troll. It wasn't really as bad as he'd expected.

He loved Jack. Jamie wasn't sure exactly how much he loved his best friend, nor what kind of love it could be categorized as. They were certainly friends, but they were hardly peers in age, and Jack was a magical, unseen spirit of an _entire season_. But he knew that he loved Jack. He had watched the immortal boy laugh and play endlessly, and he had seen the look of absolute devastation when the other children of the neighborhood began letting go of their belief. It was exactly then that he realized he didn't just admire Jack, but loved him. He never, ever wanted to see that face again.

And it was on the day Jack had planted the now-infamous ceiling footprint that Jamie decided he wanted to know more about the spirit. It wasn't the events of the morning that drove him to this. It was after school had let out, when Jamie trudged not to his home but through the woods to the pond, his backpack still filled with the spoils of an uneaten school lunch. He loved what his mother packed him (and so did Jack, he found) but he and his friends took far too much amusement out of "playing sharesies" with the hilariously mismatched hot lunches allotted by the school. It had become a game for them to trade items until each tray held a meal as close to their individual tastes as possible. Jamie loved his vegetables, so he always came out of lunch feeling like a king—always the one with a very, very full tray. And so with every intention of sharing a meal with his beloved friend, Jamie walked right past his other friends' homes and into the forest.

He would realize later, in a moment of reminiscent logic, that the wind had betrayed Jack that day. It could have, and _should _have, alerted him of Jamie, of feet crunching in the snow and then lightly tapping on ice—but it didn't. And that's why Jamie Bennett walked across the pond to find Jack sitting under a large tree, crying into his knees.

His shoulders shook with sobs, and it was such an unbelievable concept—_Jack? Crying?_—that Jamie mistook the shaking as laughter. After a pause, Jamie took another few steps forward. Then he heard the sniff, watched pale hands make fists in white hair. He froze, not knowing what to do. And what _could_ he do, at 15, for an immortal winter spirit? For the coolest guy on Earth? Well, he had to do _something_.

"Jack?" He asked hesitantly, and the reaction was incredible, unexpected. Jack became rigid with apparent shock, and then Jamie was tossed backwards from the sudden gust of wind. When he looked up through a smoky powder of snow, just beginning to settle, Jack was standing on the highest branch of the oak above.

There was nothing _un_-awkward about the situation. Jamie slowly stood, rubbing his sore tailbone, and in silence the two stared at one another. Finally, Jack broke the quiet with a half-hearted laugh.

"Got you," he said, and then quick as a wink, he was gone on the wind.

It was the worst springtime parting they'd ever had.

And so three weeks later, Jamie was waiting for the Easter Bunny next to their sapling on a chilly Saturday night. He'd snuck out after his mother and Sophie had gone to bed—and he knew, oh, he _knew _Sophie would be livid. He also knew that she had a bit of a cold, and he'd never let his sister stay out like this when she was sick. He was an honorary Guardian himself, as Jack had designated so long ago, and if he couldn't uphold the title with his own sister, he'd have to admit that it was just a silly patronizing thing to say to a kid rather than a friend's promise.

"Bunny?" He called out when the bushes rustled. _A_ bunny hopped away, but it wasn't _the_ Bunny. That was the last thing Jamie remembered before shaking himself out of sleep and rubbing the sand from his eyes. When had he fallen asleep? And where did this adorable bed of leaves come from? And these... colored eggs. Jamie moaned up at the sky. Not only had Bunny already been here, but he had been _here._ And he'd slept right through it. He wondered if snowflakes had been dancing over his head, or if there were Easter eggs. Based on the reception—Jamie was greeted with no small amount painted eggs, and he couldn't help but smile—it must have been the latter. He sighed and relented, wondering if Sophie had any loose teeth or if she was done with those already.

The months between spring and winter passed more quickly than Jamie had expected them to. A few new video games came out that Jamie absolutely slaughtered with his friends, and his 16th birthday marked the date of his first kiss. In September, he had finally gotten permission from his mother to take a road trip to a concert in Providence, RI with some friends and Pippa's cool aunt. In the back of his mind, worry for Jack continued to gnaw. What had had him so upset?

As the days grew nearer to winter, his stomach churned with increasingly ornery butterflies. It was a crisp November 7th when Jamie looked out the window and grinned the widest he had in years. Snow was falling lightly outside.


	3. Projection, Bunny

_____Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the actual words that are written here._

_Author's Note: So here we are at chapter three! This ends the first "cycle" of the story. Please offer critique above all else in any reviews you wish to leave. I am experimenting with this new style of writing, so I'm sure there's plenty that could be improved about it. Please let me know what you think! Also, these first three were posted fairly quickly, but in the future I will definitely be slowing down more. Hopefully not too much. :)_

* * *

Bunny could tell when something was wrong. He could smell it. He had smelled it on Tooth when one of her fairies informed her of Pitch's attack on the palace. He had smelled it on North when the sleigh's power came to a crashing halt. He could smell it on Jack now.

Although he supposed it wasn't that he smelled it in those situations, but rather a lack of it. The _it_ being hope. Of course, not all hope was the same. Each person he met had a different scent of hopefulness to them. In North, it was like tundra lichen, and Tooth's was a gentle mint, like tea leaves _before_ they're picked. Sandy's hope smelled a bit like a specific cove somewhere in Costa Rica that Bunny had loved to visit each Easter. In Jack, the powerful hope that had arisen only _after_ that fateful Easter was like clear water bubbling out of a mountain spring. And it had been dwindling for some time now.

The Guardians had welcomed Jack into their group—some more than others—more than eight years ago now. Although they had learned much about him in that time, it was still scant compared to what they knew about one another. He had divulged quite a bit about his past life and memories to them in his excitement, retelling the story of saving his sister more than once. Of his three-hundred-odd years as an immortal? Almost nothing. They had found out by observation that Jack was rather compulsory with freezing small bodies of water, that he made jokes when he was uncomfortable (and quickly departed when he was doubly uncomfortable), and that the wind was rather possessive and protective of him. They had found out from Jamie that he was capable of animating frost drawings. They had found out from Sophie _and_ Jamie that his name had been Jack Overland when he was human and he had _drowned _just after saving his sister. From Jack himself, they found out what he found funny. Often at their own expense.

It was to be expected, Bunny supposed, when the person you were getting to know was so rarely ever there long enough to talk to. If Bunny had seemed reclusive, Jack was like a wraith. His long absences were punctuated with the occasional prank or, if they were lucky, a moment of repose for the boy. Bunny had long ago begun accepting Jack's appearances in the Warren, although he was never sure if it was to play some devious game or to simply take a nap. There seemed to be a good 50/50 chance there. And then he would be up and gone with only the echo of laughter left behind.

Bunny had watched with growing amusement the conversations that North and especially Tooth tried, and failed, to start with Jack. There was a neverending war to pry his thoughts out of him, and the more they tried, the less cooperative he was. "So, Jack," Tooth would say, and Jack would play along just enough to seem as though he was doing his part, but before long he'd spin the conversation so that Tooth was describing to him all manner of detail in her life. Bunny would roll his eyes with a smirk, getting back to polishing a boomerang or painting an egg. It was the same for North—and Bunny would never make the mistake of thinking that Jack was particularly skilled in the art of conversational manipulation. No, those two were just, _somehow,_ worse than him at it.

Now, if Sandy had wanted to get anything out of Jack, he would have done it a long time ago. That little ball of dreamlike fortitude was much more astute than he seemed.

And Bunny himself... well...

"Spill it, Snowflake." He said. Jack was sitting on the roof just outside the window. It had taken Bunny a bit of an adventure to follow his scent and finally find him _outside_, but he wasn't going to pass up the chance to discuss the distinct lack of mountain-spring-like hope in the air. Jack cocked his head when he looked back at Bunny.

"'eya Bunny, what brings you out into the snow?" He shot back with a smile, watching Bunny step out onto the roof delicately. He sat next to Jack before answering.

"I wanna know why ya got about a lick of hope left, if that. So spill. What's got ya down?" It was blunt, and perhaps Jack would be tempted to hop onto the next breeze, but Bunny was just waiting to grab that ankle. _Go ahead and try me,_ he couldn't help but think. Jack, to his credit, dropped his smile and looked pensive instead. He sighed after a moment.

"Eh, most of the kids in Burgess don't believe in me anymore." He said it with a shrug. Bunny knew what it felt like to lose believers. Bunny didn't know what it felt like to lose the first of a still-small number of believers after 300 years of having absolutely zero. He did, however, know that it was not the kind of concept accompanied by a shrug.

"I'm sorry," he said. Jack grinned, an eyebrow raised.

"Are you really getting that soft?" He asked. "Get ahold of yourself, Bunny!" He jumped up in comic urgency, and Bunny tensed, ready to grab that ankle. Jack didn't make his move, though, instead opting to look up at the moon, a wistful smile on his face.

"I'm not gettin' soft. I just... I hear ya is all. It ain't nice to lose believers, no matter how many ya got. It'll never be easy, but that's part of the cycle." Bunny paused, wondering if his words were getting to Jack at all. The pale spirit really did seem like a wraith now, silhouetted against the moonlit snow. "And what about Sophie? And Jamie?" As he spoke, Bunny remembered seeing Jamie sleeping on the ground outside that Easter morning. He had intended to ask about that, but the thought dashed from his mind as fast as it had appeared. Jack's body language did all the talking for him, certainly more than he'd ever divulge in words. The name was like a weapon, slamming him into a rigid, tense state.

All at once, it was gone. Jack slung his staff over his shoulder casually before he turned to look back at Bunny. He smiled sadly.

"They still believe. Actually, heh," he paused, briefly. "I'm worried about Jamie. He's been lonely... I don't think he wants to stop believing." He paused again, staring at Bunny so intensely that the Easter spirit felt scrutinized on a level he was not expecting, at least not from Jack. "I try to be there for him." Bunny thought for a moment that Jack's penetrating glare wasn't a glare at all, that there was some kind of silent plea in those big, round eyes of a—_troublemaker. Troublemaker,_ _Bunny_. This was Jack. This was a dare.

"To be fair, Frostbite, we did warn you about this," he said, returning the glare with a smug raise of a brow. The subtle distaste that flicked onto Jack's features wasn't enough reason to move on from the I-told-you-sos, but the lack of any other reaction—any _retorts_—was. Bunny cleared his throat before continuing, dropping all notes of irony from his voice and adopting something far more gentle. "Sometimes they don't wanna let go. I guess, yeah, all we can do is be there when they need us until they don't need us anymore. But we just can't stand in the way of growing up, no matter how much they want us to." Jack's body spoke for him again, but this time his words did too. He took a step back, expression fierce with something Bunny would have identified as rage if he didn't know Jack very well. And really, he didn't know Jack very well.

"Have you ever thought that maybe some people _can_ still believe? Even when they grow up? Is there something so wrong with that?" Bunny now stood as well, but not to agitate Jack further. He put his paws up in a gesture of calming. "I'm _sick_ of hearing people tell Jamie that he has to _let go_ and _grow up_. Do you know how much it bothers him? And there's nothing I can do about it! I can't just leave and never return. He barely has anyone but me!" Bunny blinked, his eyes wide.

And once again, he was steeped in thought. So it was it guilt, then? The Last Light had always been particularly attached to Jack, and now he had guilted Winter itself into staying around—into feeling boxed in and surrounded by failing belief? Into watching Jamie get teased and tortured for his persistence in believing? Bunny had seen it a million times, and it was particularly Tooth who had suffered from watching the same. She had eventually holed up, avoiding the field. It was why she had tried so hard to make Jack understand. His hysterical breathing was finally settling, although his hand was still clutching his staff with a shaking fist. Bunny wondered then if Jack _had_ understood. If he'd listened at all.

"Please tell me you took our advice a while back, mate." He blurted suddenly after the long pause. Jack's eyes widened again. Was that fear, or—

"Of course I did," he snapped.

—insult. Right, then. "Just makin' sure, ya gumby."

Bunny was fighting the urge to throw a jab at Jack's overly tense state. He was wound up like... like a bloody woggabaliri ball. Making a few comments at his expense would have made for a great laugh if only there weren't such an ominous undercurrent to the entire conversation. And, three hundred or not, Jack was still just a brat in some ways. And a friend. Most of the time. He certainly didn't deserve to feel so abysmally hopeless.

"Listen, Jack," Bunny said, lowering his paws. "We've all had to deal with somethin' like this before. It's... well, it's one of the drawbacks of being a Guardian, I guess ya could say." He paused, mulling over his next offer. He didn't really _want _to, but... "I'll talk to him, if ya'd like. Maybe I can get the little dodger to let go." He smirked, thinking of twenty reasons Jamie might _not _want to believe anymore. Jack's head jerked to face him with shock. Bunny smirked. People were _always_ stunned when he offered to do something nice. Insulting, he supposed, but nonetheless amusing. Jack's shock was gone quickly, replaced with resignation.

"Nah, I've been planning to talk to him for a while now. I think I will when I head down there next month. But hey..." he stepped toward the window. When one foot was on the sill, he finished: "Thanks." And then he ducked inside.

* * *

Bunny was glad to be away from the frigid snow—his feet were absolutely frozen. He had sniffed at the air all the way back, but he still couldn't make out any more of that mountain water hope than he had before. Being the Guardian of Hope had taught him one thing, however: hope blooms like a flower. Perhaps in this case, he should think of it as forming like an icicle. It doesn't always happen immediately, but it only takes the strategic planting of a seed to grow.

North was chatting Jack up when Bunny finally stepped into the globe room, nabbing a mug of hot cocoa and a cookie off some elves on his way there. He stood on the balcony and watched as Tooth fluttered up to the two below.

"You're back! Where were you?" She asked. Bunny munched away in amusement. He wondered what Jack would say about their conversation outside, if anything.

"Did you miss me?" He asked instead, throwing the conversation back into her court, _again_. Bunny couldn't help but smirk. This was becoming a favorite form of entertainment.

"It's hard to miss someone who's already so mysterious" she tutted, fluttering away with an air of mock-indignation. Bunny's brows raised. So she was finally wising up, was she? This might get more interesting in the near future.

Of course everyone knew that Tooth could hold a grudge—for perhaps a day, if she tried—and she was back to chatting with Jack not five minutes later. Bunny hopped down to the floor below and joined them not long after, taking a seat near the massive hearth to warm his feet up thoroughly. And as he laid back, enjoying that cocoa to the last drop, he was certain he could smell the water of a cold mountain spring in the air.

And hey, who knew? Maybe, by the time Jack got back to Burgess, Jamie would have already forgotten all about him.


	4. Jack Overthinking

_____Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the actual words that are written here._

_Author's Note: Welp, same old same old. Please offer critique and thoughts. c:_

* * *

Jack dropped down onto his lake with a gentleness he could hardly maintain. The thought of seeing Jamie again after so many months was incredibly exciting, but he was still in the process of thinking all of this over. Tooth's words were still ringing in his mind. The less mysterious he was to Jamie, the more he'd be remembered with each passing summer. At least, that was the idea. He could be there for Jamie no matter how old he grew. He could be the friend that listened to every frustration and brought out the fun whenever he needed it most. And even though it went against his very nature to reveal himself in all of his imperfectionism, he had to admit that it made sense. It would be hard to forget someone so real, so undeniably tangible and filled with thoughts and emotions and a three hundred year-long back story. It was worth it.

Even if it might make Jamie resent him.

And all at once—like black water lapping the shores of an inky, salty lake—dark thoughts tugged on the edges of Jack's mind. Try as they might, they _wouldn't_ drag him back down into a place he no longer belonged. He shook the bitter, the lonely, and the hateful from his mind with a literal shake of his head. From his feet, a thick layer of ice radiated outward with a crackling hiss. It clawed into the shoreline, freezing the mud into small, jagged peaks. He exhaled, running a hand through white hair. _Jamie._ He was here for Jamie. With another deep breath, he drew himself away from the throbbing ache of a heart riddled with cracks.

Jack had already told the Bennetts, particularly Jamie, quite a bit about himself. What was now left was the bad. The hurt, the fear, the shame. Jack was adept at skirting any negative topics—regardless of whom he spoke with. He had long ago discovered that people didn't _like _hearing about such things. There was nothing fun about listening to a person whine. Of course, there were times when it happened by accident, like when he spilled out the word "died," and Jamie and Sophie had gaped with tearful horror until he was forced to tell the story of his death and subsequent immortality. Otherwise, however, he had carefully sheltered his friend from the Stupid Mistakes of Jack Frost.

And so now Jack stood, allowing the wind to gently blow him in lazy circles around the surface of his lake, lost in deliberation. What should and shouldn't he be telling Jamie? What if he said the wrong thing—what if Jamie _did _grow to resent him? But... Jack couldn't stifle a laugh when the wind whipped some frozen leaves at him, and he leapt to dodge them, a ninja dodging shurikens in his mind's eye. But this was _Jamie._ Jamie, who had not a single drop of darkness in him. Jamie, who would never hold onto scorn. Jamie, who would always forgive. What was a little temporary resentment if Jamie was forced to see the _reality_ of Jack? And that's when he was completely decided. He would tell Jamie _everything_.

He had wanted to be there before school if at all possible, but the wind had been a little extra playful, jostling him about the atmosphere more than he would have liked. Even so, he could at least add more to the almost embarrassingly light snow that was already falling lazily onto the streets of Burgess. Jack would have a foot dumped on these folks by noon. Zipping up from his lake, he tumbled on the wind, dropping the frequent "_Pardon me_" as he wove through the bustling town, unseen. Finally, he perched himself atop Burgess High triumphantly, a king overseeing his greatest exploit (snow day!) and—he dropped off the roof to peer into a window. It was dark and empty inside.

With a whoop, Jack was back in the air, rocketing to Jamie's house. Who needed snow days when it was the _weekend_? With a swirl, the wind masterfully brought his mach 2 dive into a standstill just before Jamie's bedroom window. He peeked in, unabashedly watching as Jamie obliviously texted away on his tiny new telephone. With a _bang_, he tore Jamie's attention from that phone real fast. And he felt a wave of joy unparalleled by anything in this world when Jamie's face lit up with a smile at seeing him. And he felt a horrible pang as a fracture started worrying its way through his heart when Jamie stood, taller than he'd been that spring.

"Hey bro," Jamie said, offering a hand.

"Bro?" Jack raised an eyebrow after climbing in, and Jamie laughed. In the past, he would have blushed or shuffled his feet—or both—when Jack gave him that expression, but now he laughed confidently. He really was growing. And not only that, but... "Your mom's not home?" Jamie shook his head.

"Nah, and Soph's out too. Actually, she was just asking me if you were by yet," he pulled the pocketed phone back out as he spoke, checking it for her reply. "But I wanted to catch up before we see her. Plus, she's kinda with friends, so I don't really think she should be ditching them for you anyway?" He seemed to say that more to himself than to Jack, glancing absently at the ceiling. Then he dropped his gaze back to level Jack with a serious stare. "You never cleaned that footprint." Jack snorted into laughter, looking up to see it still there, prominent on the white ceiling.

"I guess your mom can't see it then?" He asked, grinning proudly at the mark. It felt like a work of art at this point.

"Nah, which I guess is for the better. It's kinda grown on me." He gave Jack a lopsided smile with a chuckle that sounded 8-years-old all over again. "Like a little piece of Jack to keep all summer." The warmth blossomed through Jack, and he wasn't sure how it had happened because it had seemed to _just happen_. His arms were around Jamie and he was hugging him, hugging him and not wanting to ever, ever let go.

For a moment, he thought about breaking the contact and laughing it off. _"Well, that was weird," _he could so easily say. But he didn't want to. And so when, after an eternity of two seconds, Jamie's hands wrapped around his shoulders in return, Jack was certain he had attained absolute perfection in his life.

But it had to end. When Jamie shivered, the spell was broken. Jack didn't hesitate to release his perhaps too-tight grip, but as soon as he'd let go, he found himself wishing for just one more second in that warm embrace. Wishing as he looked straight into Jamie's eyes.

"What happened, Jack?" Jamie asked him, and for a moment Jack only stared, trying to decipher the question.

"I," he started, then: "Nothing. Nothing happened. It was a long summer." And now Jamie was the one deciphering, eyes searching Jack. He resisted the urge to spin around and make some comment, reminding himself that the whole point of this was to be real. This was the perfect opportunity to work it in, right? Or was it the absolute worst time? Things were going so well. But he could see it in Jamie's eyes. He could see the concern, the distinctly _adult _side of a 16-year-old boy who was worried about things he shouldn't be worrying about. And there wasn't anything Jack could do to stop that worry, that aging, but he could keep Jamie from forgetting. He could be a little less mysterious. But... what could he possibly say? It was perhaps a blessing that Jamie broke the silence, finally.

"Jack, if you ever need to talk about something... I just want you to know, I'm here to listen. I don't care what it is." He said it with an affection that Jack found uncomfortable. When had Jamie gotten the idea that Jack needed _him_?

"Look kid," Jack said, taking on his more casual tone again, "I've been around for three hundred years, remember? I can take care of myself." But there was something in Jamie's eyes that continued to haunt Jack. Something that seemed to see right through layers of thick lake ice and into the darkness below. It was threatening to chip away at ice that had been placed so _very _carefully and _why does everyone want to break the ice?_ His thoughts were jumbling under the intense gaze, so finally he stepped back up to crouch on the window sill, breathing in the crisp, cold wind. Was he really about to pass up that perfect opportunity? The wind ruffled his hair. "Let's go somewhere."


End file.
